Well, I am no poetry critic, but it seems to me like at times you channel some of your darker personification into something that stands out as reflectively reminiscent, albeit in a peculiar way. However it all still tends to pan out with optimistic prospects although soaked in a uniquely noir-like fashion. Not bad at all. Mankyndlyness is probably the best I've seen you make although it was some time since you made it.

Confession: obsessed! Damnable darkness, making that silent shrouding sound, sorrow falling on every object! Petulant, distress, flashlight-less I grope. In the dark, eloping, running free through wild midnight forests, know me even as I am fully known; relational databases are breaking to the sound of this song.

Let all this pointless purpose cease! End our patient placid peace!Let there be explosions! Nightmares!Cut the Rhododendrum stem; let the flower fallTear down thegarden wall, let the hanging silk be shred!Cover your head with ashes, ManGnash and wail, scream and flailTake up your poison'd peerless pen!Let the Cacaphony begin again!

Rather than just post nonsense, I invite instead (my audience of none) to observe.

These few lines are all the gold I've mined today:

"An endless string of pearls along a strandglittering with memory, all together lovelyI reach out my handand polish each moment, slowly."

And here's all the detritus that should be hauled away, unhonored, unsung:

"You cannot hear the back-pattern behind my singingunless you canHalf a dozen poems die in the cage of my lipsor behind the fire driving my fingertipsperfectly forgotten, sacrificeshalf a dozen blind birds thrown into the windThese feelings are too big for the words in my mouthlittle round men in skinny coats a burstin'I make mad crabs of my handsdancing fingers against a bold typefaceThe envy of Gutenberg, the bane of Swedenborg"

Ever pouring water flow,Come the man, ever carrying, perpetually pouringEverywhere he canEvery dried river bedEvery empty glass and stained cupWherever the water asks insistently to goIt sloshes like a child in muddy boots, playing in the rainAgainst the lip of this urnIf love is his nameHow wonderous that is!

I blink back the little sparks that dazzle my eyes In the dull dim of corporate daylight, Where poetry is dutifully stacked,Signed for by the appropriate authoritiesStored according to OSHA standard

Through a haze I see it allMy fellow fish, swimming through water they cannot knowA race of deep sea divers presuming upon the open airUtterly unaware of the clumsiness of their dancingI flow around them, puckish grin, oft times troll footedBetter for hard stompingEmphatic remarksGesticulationI know the secret conversations!The one's your bodies are having, all unknowingThe way you place you feetChanges everything you say.

I am awake, still dreamingLost in melancholic reverieTwenty seven and fresh from the womb of our stillborn relationshipEmptiness Emptiness is in my expressionI feel it creep over my eyes and hands

You, unseated from your burning throneMe, a candalabra lacking, want to host a flameOr to be a candle ever burningInstead of a bulb seldom lit

I pity my bloodstreamDenied the opportunity to bask in the love of an afternoon setting sunEndlessly enriched by its heatPerhaps their relationship is more meaningful than mineAs my blood carries the fire of the stars through my bodyBut by this mythological relationship, I only stand to gain

I wish you could see this. I made it up to North Lakes. It's tepid this year, and the chill doesn't burn my skin; not like then. Then it was cold fire, and my heart chambers filled with ice. NowThe village is covered in ash-white snow, but I remember then. Yes; I remember then.